I'm Sorry, Brianna
by Georgie Max
Summary: A one-shot from Brianna, Dustfinger's daughter's point of view. As Brianna grew up, with her father being one of the most famous fire-eaters and leaving very often, she found that it was difficult being his daughter.


"You're the fire-eater's daughter! Show us how to play with fire!" the children demanded.

The little girl of almost six years pushed her ruddy hair behind her ears, her dark eyes flashing.

"My father is a fire-eater. I'm not," she said, sounding bored and impatient. "I've told you this before."

"Why?" one older, copper-haired imp of a boy taunted. "Is it because he's never home? He leaves your mother all the time. Why, the fire-eater spends more time away than he does with you!"

"My father has to earn money!" Brianna defended. "Sometimes he can't do that here."

"None of the other men leave their families! _My_ papa doesn't."

"So? My father's different!" Brianna's voice rose.

"He's a coward!"

"He is not!" Brianna cried, tears of anger streaming down her face, as she struck out and hit the boy square in the face. "At least he actually has talent. He doesn't have to stoop to your father's thievery! And he brings me nice presents! What can your wretched father afford?" Her voice seethed with anger and hatred as she spat out each word decisively. "Nothing but the clothes on your back! He can't even buy decent shoes for your dirty feet!"

Emphasizing the last of her attack of words, she stomped away, leaving the boy stunned, staring after her.

Brianna stormed into the family's little farmhouse, slamming the door.

"Where's father?" she asked her mother, Roxane, looking around. Her younger sister, Rosanna, still a young child, played in the floor with her dolls.

Roxane, busy cooking, her back to Brianna and used to her swinging moods, answered lightly, "Gone away for a few days."

Brianna's mouth pursed tightly. "Again?"

"Yes," was all Roxane said.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Brianna stomped out the back door and toward the back of the stable where they kept their few animals.

Pulling a match from her apron pocket and looking around to make sure no one was near, Brianna struck the match against a rock. And then, the flame dancing and sparkling in her eyes, she began trying to whisper to the flames as her father did. She mimicked his way with fire best she could. To her surprise, it bounced up a bit from the match. As soon as it did, she rashly blew it toward her open palm, hoping to catch and toss the fire as her father did. And for a moment, she held the flame in her palm, she caressed it, like her father. Like Dustfinger.

And then that moment was over, and she felt the heat burning her skin. Lapsing into a panic, she began to blow on her hands desperately, tears welling up in her eyes as the pain took over all of her senses. She let out a howl, and then, suddenly, cool relief flushed over her hands as someone threw a bucket of water on them. She looked up to see her father standing there, staring at her, a deep frown carved into his face, making the scars across his cheek even sterner.

"Brianna," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "what were you doing? What were you thinking?" He sank to his knees, taking her squarely by the shoulders. "Don't you know what fire can do?" He shook her. "Don't you?!"

Brianna's lips tightened as more tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to blink them back. She was still angry with her father, wasn't she? What was he doing back so soon? She couldn't let him see her cry.

"Brianna," he said, taking her in his arms, "Brianna, you know that I have covered my skin with the fire elves' honey. It keeps the fire from burning me." He took a deep breath and looked into her glimmering dark eyes. "But you are just a child. Why did you do that? I've told you not to mess with fire." His voice rose. "I've told you!"

Brianna's eyebrows furrowed. "I'd like to see you defend yourself and your father in front of those wretched children! They never leave me alone. I can't even play dolls with any of the girls without them thinking I'm going to burn their dolls' dresses off just by touching them. They never stop asking me to show them my fire-eating skills, even though I've told them a million times that I _can't_ do what my father does!" She took a deep breath. "It is _difficult_ to be your daughter."

Dustfinger just stared at her, his eyes taking on a glazed and faraway look, tears welling up in his eyes. Then he looked away, down at the ground, blinking back those tears. His grip on Brianna's shoulders loosened. He took a deep, shaky breath and then looked at her again. She wouldn't make her eyes meet his, so Dustfinger embraced his daughter heartily.

"I'm sorry, Brianna."


End file.
